


The White Whale

by FreysGalli



Series: Moby and Dick [1]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Broken Bones, Changes after season 13, Dogs, M/M, Swearing, injured animal, setting a bone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-16 20:00:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19325092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreysGalli/pseuds/FreysGalli
Summary: A building collapses while out on patrol and Simmons starts acting weird, especially after he finds something in the rubble.





	The White Whale

**Author's Note:**

> I started having ideas for this AU after I watched season 14 and was wanting more stories on Chorus. I've finally sat down and started writing parts of it, so here's the first story. 
> 
> I don't go into too much detail about injuries.
> 
> Thank you a_taller_tale, CC_writes, and Sabishiita.

Patrol sucks. 

Grif, Simmons, Tucker, Washington, and Caboose, and their squads are doing a routine route patrol. Trudging through a town that had been abandoned during the early years of the Chorus Wars. All of the buildings are dilapidated and damaged from fighting. Plants have started growing and breaking apart the structures. The local wildlife had obviously started making homes in the buildings judging from the small paths and tracks to the entrances. 

Palomo’s constant chatter with Jensen over the radio was getting annoying, and thankfully Tucker was the one to put an end to it in the first hour. Grif wanted to make sure Simmons understood how much he hated this through their private channel.

“This sucks,” Grif said.

“I know,” Simmons snipped back.

“My fucking shoulder still hurts. Chorus isn’t hurting for soldiers anymore, so why are the war heroes still doing fucking patrols?” He’s tired. He thought that once the war was over they could fucking retire and be done with this shit.

“They’re still short people, Grif,” Simmons says exasperated. “Even though shit’s  _ mostly _ over. There’s still pirates and people trying to restart the civil war. You know that.”

Grif hates that Simmons is right, but he still think it’s stupid that he’s out here on patrol with his still fucked up shoulder. The bullet wound is mostly healed, but it hurts like a son of a bitch. He keeps shifting the weight of what he’s carrying back and forth.

“When we stop,” Simmons says. “I wanna take a quick look at your shoulder. It shouldn’t be bothering you this much.”

“Well. I’m sure the heavy armor and lugging a god damn heavy gun around isn’t helping.” He’s surprised that Simmons has been paying that much attention to him instead of the patrol.

“Ok that was  _ your _ fault. You’re the one that decided to bring the Grifshot on a patrol mission.”

“I didn’t want Carolina or Agent Stick Up His Ass to try and take it!”

“Grif. No one is going to  _ take your stupid gun _ !”

“Yes they will! Don’t you remember the last time I got it back?”

“Yes! Because we needed to examine the alien tech it had!”

Grif ducks his head and mumbles, “Yeah but they didn’t need  _ my  _ gun.”

Simmons huffs and keeps walking. They’ve had this argument several times, but Simmons thinks Grif is being ridiculous. Grif thinks if Simmons understood why this gun was so important to him, he would drop it. That would require Grif to open up and talk about the “Cliff” however and he’s not in the mood to deal with both of them having nightmares for another two weeks; the nightmares they had about Hargrove’s office finally died down. 

They survived Charon and saved the planet, but they’re still working on rounding up the last of the pirates. There’s currently arrangements for their retirement, but Grif will believe _ that _ when it happens. Plus Tucker’s been BEGGING Kimball to let him activate the “Fuck Tower” (as Grif and Simmons have been calling it). Grif finds it infinitely funny that Simmons has to leave the meeting room whenever it comes up otherwise Simmons has to deal with Tucker’s virgin jokes the rest of the meeting. Grif snickers each time. They’ve both agreed to keep their relationship a secret for now. Partially because they don’t want to deal with Tucker and Donut’s smugness and another part is that it’s hilarious watching Donut and Tucker lose their minds with frustration. Like last weekend--

Grif walks a few steps past Simmons and then turns when he notices Simmons has stopped, head turning like he’s looking for something.

“Did you hear that?” Simmons asks.

“Hear what?” Grif feels adrenaline shoot through him as he readies his Grifshot, looking around trying to spot where an enemy might be. He faintly hears other soldiers pulling out weapons and going for cover and radio chatter fills his coms. 

“What’s going on?” Washington yells over the cacophony.

Jensen answers, “Captain Simmons stopped and Captain Grif pulled out his--”

“MOVE!” Simmons yells.

Grif stands confused then feels blinding pain in his shoulder as Simmons grabs his arm to get him to run.

The pillar next to them gives a thundering crack and comes tumbling down everyone starts yelling and scrambling to get out of the way of the rubble and dust. Grif runs as fast as he can lugging the Grifshot, but Simmons suddenly shoves him forward, knocking him off his feet. Then the heavy fucking cyborg lands on top of him, on his bad shoulder. He hears the debris hit them both and watches the cloud of dust wash over them.

When the loud sound of the collapse quiets and the dust starts settling, Simmons rolls off of Grif. The asshole at least has the decency to make sure more rubble doesn’t fall on him. 

“Did you HAVE to land on top of me?” Grif says while trying to sit up. “Son of a BITCH.” He feels a shooting pain go through his shoulder. Shit.

“I’m sorry,” Simmons says sarcastically. He gets to his feet and starts wiping the dust off of his visor. “I’ll just remember that the next time we have a building collapse near us to make sure that the giant fucking rocks hits you next time.” Grif jerks his head up at Simmons; he opens his mouth to ask if he’s alright, but Simmons offers his hand to help pull Grif to his feet.

“Is everyone alright?” he hears Wash call over the radio. “Everybody check in!”

Grif walks over to check on his squad. A couple of the newer guys armor vents were crushed and filled with rubble. They were going to have to go back to prevent overheating. Simmons squad seems to be fine minus one person who needs new greaves. 

When Simmons is done checking his team, he walks closer to the rubble and stares at it.

“Maroon Team status report,” Wash shouts over the radio.

Simmons ignores Wash and keeps staring… It's creeping Grif out how inhumanly still he's standing.

“Maroon Team!”

Then he starts tilting his head back and forth like a dog.

“Simmons,” Grif says. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“SIMMONS STATUS REPORT!”

“Shut up!” Simmons yells, he’s walking towards the rubble, moving his head back and forth. “I’m trying to listen!”

“Listen for what?” Wash says incredulously. “Simmons what’s going on?”

Simmons turns to everyone around him then settles on Grif, “Don’t you hear that?”

“Hear what Simmons?” Grif looks around and braces to start running. “Is another building about to--”

“THAT!” Simmons yells. “Fuck. It’s…” He runs and climbs onto the rubble. 

“Simmons?! What the fuck?” He should let the idiot get shot. He shouldn’t go after him…. Grif loudly groans, then Grif stabs the Grifshot into the ground. He spots his second in command and points a threatening finger. “Don’t let anyone take it or touch it, Bitters.” He sighs before following Simmons through the rubble, trying to mimic his movements since Simmons has extra fancy detection in his cyborg eye. Fucking asshole isn’t slowing down. Grif then gets the creeping feeling that maybe Simmons hears someone trapped in the rubble. “Simmons what the fuck are you doing? What the fuck is going-”

Simmons gets to a point in the rubble, does that stupid fucking head waggle then rips his helmet off. 

“SIMMONS!” Grif feels his chest clench. He tries to move even faster to get to Simmons. “What the  _ fuck _ are you doing?! Put your goddamn helmet on you fucking idiot!!”

There could be snipers  _ anywhere,  _ and Simmons bright red head would be a perfect target. Grif gets to a more leveled out spot to walk over, but he quickly drops down to the ground as a piece of rubble flies towards him.

“SIMMONS! What the--HOLY SHIT!” Several larger pieces follow suit. He glances back up to see Simmons flinging pieces of the collapsed building out of the way, digging down. “Stop throwing that shit at me. Simmons! Fuck! Ok I can’t dodge fucking WALLS!”

Simmons barely glances up but adjusts where he’s throwing and digs more and more frantically. Grif tries to get over to him to help him dig out the sorry son of a bitch that was caught in the collapse. Simmons has stopped flinging things and moves more slowly and cautiously to--

“Got’em!” Simmons yells triumphantly. He reaches into the small hole he’s made to pull up something covered in dust, wriggling and crying. 

He stands up with a puppy in his arms, and Grif wants to throttle him.

“Hey, it’s ok little guy. You’re ok!” he says trying to soothe the howling puppy as he walks over to Grif.

“Simmons. What the fuck? You risk getting your head blown off for-”

“He’s hurt and scared, Grif! We gotta get him back to base.” The puppy is covered in dust and Grif can see the nasty gash on his shoulder and the signs of possibly a broken bone. He can't tell much about it since is covered in dust and wiggling. It looks like the egghead dog from Toy Story. “Shit. Grif get me the med kit! I can at least clean the cut.”

“Simmons. It’s just--” Grif makes the mistake of looking at Simmons face: covered in dirt and sweat, soft from concern and care for this small thing in his arms. It makes Grif’s heart twist.

“OH MY GOSH! PUPPY!” Caboose knocks into Grif’s shoulder almost making him blackout from the pain. Caboose is scrambling to get to Simmons and the puppy. Simmons shields the puppy, turning his shoulder to take the brunt of Caboose’s charge while using one gauntlet to hold and the other to cover.

“Back the fuck up Caboose! You’re in  _ power armor!  _ You could hurt him!”

“Oh that’s hilarious considering you just threw a bunch of fucking boulders and walls at me!” Grif yells.

“Yeah, well I’ve had a bit more training in holding back strength because of my stupid robot arm. I’m  _ used _ to being delicate with strength enhancers! Caboose.  _ Back. OFF!  _ You’re going to hurt him!”

“Can I pet the puppy?”

“You can pet the puppy  _ after _ we get him to the vet.”

“Ok,” Caboose says with a slight pout in his voice, but he thankfully backs away. “As long as you promise. I take good care of Freckles. See! Freckles don’t I take good care of you?”

“Affirmative!” says Freckles. “Captain Caboose does regular maintenance.”

“And I feed him twice a day! And I’ve never hurt you, have I Freckles!”

“Affirmative.”

“He’s a gun, Caboose,” Simmons dead pans. “It’s almost impossible to hurt a gun.”

“What’s going on back here?” Tucker yells. Grif looks up to see Washington and Tucker walking towards him.

Washington screeches. “Simmons, why don’t you have a helmet?”

“Agent Washington,” Caboose yells. “Simmons found a puppy!” 

“A what?” Washington looks at Simmons curled around the whimpering puppy.

“Wait,” Tucker says, “was  _ that _ what Simmons was flipping out about?! I thought one of our guys was stuck.”

“Yeah same, but looks like he was just trying to save that,” Grif says. He walks over to scoop Simmons helmet up and stands next to him. Simmons curls away from him, side eyeing him and putting himself in a position so he could view everyone. Simmons was looking very...anxious and paranoid. Outside of his usual levels and Grif hadn’t seen him act like this since Grif went over the cliff and Agent Washington was around. 

“Who is going to take the puppy to the vet?” Caboose asks. “Simmons can’t take care of Grif!”

“Wait, are you saying I’m Simmons pet?!”

“You misbehave all the time! Simmons isn’t a very good trainer.”

Tucker starts snickering, “I mean he isn’t wrong.”

“Fuck you!” both Grif and Simmons shout.

“Ok, enough,” Washington shouts. “Simmons, give me the puppy.”

Grif sees Simmons stiffen and step back. Grif turns to watch him and sees Simmons face harden, panic in his eyes which was odd. 

“No, I-I’m,” Simmons swallows. “I’m not giving him to-to  _ anyone _ . He’s staying with me.” His voice sounds like that type of stubborn he gets during arguments, but...it’s more serious. “I’m taking him back to base to get a vet to look at him and he’s staying with me.”

“Okaaaaaay,” Tucker says looking to Grif, who just shrugs. He’s not seen Simmons quite like this before. The closest was right after the “Cliff” incident, when Washington got too close to Grif or Sarge.

“Are there any vets on Chorus?” asks Tucker. “I mean where would you even start to look for one?” Grif knows Tucker can’t see his face but he glares anyway.

“I-I don’t,” Simmons looks down at the puppy. Worry and panic etched in his face.

“Doctor Grey,” Grif says. Simmons head snaps up to look at Grif. 

“Doctor Grey’s a human doctor, dude.”

“Look, Doctor Grey has like tons of degrees or whatever. I’m sure she’s got vet in there somewhere. Besides, it’s just stitches and maybe setting a break.” Grif looks over and the hope on Simmons’s face, fuck. This nerd will be the death of him. “You guys keep going. I’m going to take this idiot back to base.” He walks towards Simmons, who takes a step back. “ _ Chill. _ I’m putting your dumb helmet back on. I’m sure the snipers appreciate the unprotected bright red target, dumbass.”

When Simmons shifts to let Grif shove his helmet on, the puppy lets out a yelp and starts crying. Simmons immediately starts shushing and soothing, then tilts his head back up so Grif can snap the helmet on and do the clasps. He does so slowly and gently to not jostle Simmons.

“Thanks,” Simmons says. 

“What about your squads?” says Tucker. “You leaving them?”

“Sure. Whatever you need. We’re just going to take one of the Warthogs from the outpost we just passed.”

“You’re just doing this to get out of patrol aren’t you?”

“Yeah, Tucker. That’s  _ exactly _ why I’m doing this. Let’s completely ignore my fucked up shoulder and the freaked out nerd. Come on, Simmons.”

“Wait,” Washington sighed. “You’ll need a gunner at the very least since yours is...occupied at the moment.”

“Oooo. Ooo. Me! Me! I would like to go on the puppy mission!”

“No Caboose! We’re not taking charge of your squad, too!”

“But he deserves a proper escort!”

“No Caboose!”

“Bitters,” Grif yells. “You’re coming with us.”

“Thank God.” Bitters says walking up grabbing the Grifshot.

Washington stares at them and shakes his head, “Fine, you’re taking the injured back with you, too.”

“Fine. Whatever. Gather them up so we can go. I’ll radio in when we get there. Bitters, take point.”

They have a small group (enough that Caboose is satisfied with the “escort”) to take back with them. Simmons quickly falls in step behind Bitters and Grif trudges behind them both with a trail of soldiers behind them. He can hear Simmons talking quietly to the whimpering and crying puppy. It occasionally yowls or yelps when Simmons stumbles and he blubbers apologies to it until it calms down. Grif’s actually surprised he hasn’t said anything or explained what the fuck all of that weirdness was about.

After 20 minutes or so they get to the outpost. Simmons immediately finds a crate to set the puppy down. It starts howling immediately while Simmons starts taking off his helmet and gauntlets. Grif heads towards the outpost office to start signing off on a Warthog.

“Bitters,” Simmons shouts. “Grab a medkit and bottle of water.”

Bitters lets out a dramatic sigh before wandering off. “Yes, sir,” he calls back. 

Grif hurries through the process as quickly as possible (why is there  _ so _ much shit to sign?). When he’s done he finds Simmons putting a makeshift muzzle on the puppy. He’s whispering soft apologies to the poor thing as it whines and struggles to get away. When he gets it on, he starts washing the wound more thoroughly and gently prods around the injury. The puppy yelping when he gets close to the break. Simmons tries to gently set it and uses some tongue depressors from the kit to stabilize the puppies leg. When finished Simmons gently undoes the muzzle and puts some water in bowl that he assumes Bitters found. While the puppy drinks Simmons starts gathering his supplies and putting things back in the medkit.

Grif walks over, “Hey, asshole.” Simmons startles and looks up at Grif then at Grif’s extended hand. “Ready to go?”

Simmons grabs it and as Grif pulls him up, he winces. Fucking shoulder.

“Shit. I’m sorry! I forgot.” Simmons says, he opens the medkit and pulls some more stuff out.“Take your armor off so I can look at that.”

“It’s fine, Simmons.”

“No it’s not. I should--”

“Let’s get to Doctor Gray, then you can look at it.”

“But--”

“I only need one hand to drive.” Simmons frowns and opens his mouth to argue. “Look, asshole, it’s not lugging around heavy shit for another 5 hours. I’ll be fine to drive for another 30 minutes and making sure you and this dumb thing get where you need to go, and don’t think we aren’t going to talk about this.”

Simmons snaps his mouth closed with a click and sheepishly looking away from Grif.

“Fine,” Simmons mumbles. He gently scoops the puppy and helps it settle on one arm, making sure the injured leg is stabled as much as possible. Then grabs the medkit with his free hand. “I...Thanks for...for doing this, Dex.”

“Yeah well. Got us out of a stupid 8 hour patrol.” Grif shrugs, and Simmons rolls his eyes but still looks uncomfortable as he starts walking away. “Hey.” Grif reaches out to clasp a hand on his shoulder, “It’s ok.”

Simmons looks ashamed, “Sorry. I’m--” he pauses and his eyes dart like he’s looking for words.

“Look,” and Simmons does, “this is important to you for whatever reason. Plus,” Grif looks at the little guy curled up on Simmons arm, and he reaches out to pet it but stops remembering Simmons warning to Caboose. “He’s kinda cute.”

“Yeah,” that soft expression slowly forms on Simmons face again and Grif’s heart can’t take it.

“But if you keep forgetting your damn helmet,” Grif snatches the helmet up and slams it on his dumb secret boyfriend’s head, “his owner isn’t going to last long enough to get him home.”

“Wait,” Simmons says muffled with his helmet lopsided and unclasped. “Who said we were keeping him?”

Grif tilts his head and gives Simmons a look. “Really, Dick?” Grif says incredulous. He fiddles with Simmons helmet to get it to sit properly on Simmons head, lining up the clasps and closing them. “Just know you’re in charge of giving him walks and all that shit.” He pauses. “Yeah and cleaning that up, too.”

“We-we’re not keeping him. We don’t have any place to keep a dog!”

Grif gently spins Simmons and nudges him to the Warthog. “Yeah. Sure, Simmons.”

“We’re not!”

“Mmhmm.”

“We’re not! I mean...where would he sleep?”

“Probably in the bed.”

“No! That’s a terrible idea! That’s bad discipline! And what would he even eat?”

“Table scraps!”

“NO! That’s so unhealthy! Rice, raw egg, and maybe some spare meat from the kitchen would be better. Some extra vegetables….but I guess that doesn’t matter because we aren’t keeping him.”

Grif knows Simmons is going to keep the dog even if Simmons is bickering and insisting that he’s not.

\---

Simmons fidgets with all the stares as he and Grif walk through the medical wing with a  _ puppy _ whose leg is splinted with popsicle sticks _.  _ The puppy is passed out in Simmons arms when they walk into Gray’s office. She’s looking over some charts when they walk in. Grif lightly taps on the door to get her attention before they walk into the room

“Oh! Captain Grif and Captain Simmons! I heard there was a building collapse. There’s no severe injuries reported. Are you ok--” she cuts off seeing the puppy in Simmons arms. “Why is that here?”

“Um,” Simmons starts unhelpfully. 

Grif sighs, “Simmons found him in the building collapse. It’s leg is broken and Simmons set it--”

“If it’s not a problem?” Simmons cuts in. “You’re busy and we shouldn’t be bugging you about something stupid like this. But I don’t know where a vet is or if vets exist here? He’s scared and alone and--”

“It’ll take a little bit, but I’ll get him fixed up for you.” She gently takes the puppy out of Simmons arms. “His breed isn’t my first pick for a companion or assistance dog, but I trust you will train him well and be more consistent which they need.”

“What? We’re not--we aren’t keeping him!” Simmons blurts out.

“And where do you suggest we keep him? This isn’t a kennel. There’s no ‘pet adoption Saturdays’ here. He’s going to need someone to look after him.”

“I’m...I’m sure someone will take him.” Simmons fidgets uncomfortably.

“Mmhm,” Gray says. “Well, either you’re going to take responsibility of him in the meantime or find someone who will take care of him.”

Grif watches Simmons fidget. The idiot is probably warring with whether he could qualify as a responsible pet owner or not. Hmmm. Grif smiles, “Well Caboose was interested. We could--”

Simmons goes stiff as a board then blurts, “I’ll be responsible!” Bingo. Mention someone Simmons considers more irresponsible (everyone not Simmons), and Simmons will take over.

Gray claps her hands together, “Perfect! I’ll take that and contact you when he’s ready to be picked up! It might be a couple of days depending on how bad the break is.”

Gray walks over to take the dog and Simmons freezes again and does that weird protective covering gesture again. Gray gently moves Simmons arm and takes the puppy who whines and cries while being moved. Simmons face crumples, and he’s back to trying to soothe him with soft words and ear scratches. When Gray finally gets control of the little guy and walks away, Simmons watches while wringing his hands. 

Grif swats Simmons on his back making the man loudly yelp then glare. Grif sighs, “Come on, dumbass. This shoulder isn’t going to look after itself.” He walks away expecting Simmons to follow him, but when he reaches the doorway he looks back and sees Simmons still looking where Gray walked away. Grif briefly wonders if Simmons acted the same way when Grif was hit by the tank. “Chorus to Simmons!”

Simmons jumps again, “Right! Sorry. I’ll, um…” He follows behind Grif. They continue to their shared room in silence. Simmons wringing his hands the whole time. Grif wants to know what’s going on but he doesn’t want to upset Simmons even further.

When they get to the room they both take their armor off; Grif wincing when he has to take his chest and shoulder pieces off. Simmons doesn’t notice because he’s turned away, going into autopilot mode. Carefully stacking his armor in his closet while Grif just tosses in his. Grif sits on the bed, and Simmons goes to his desk and turns on his computer out of habit but he sits and quietly stares at the screen. Grif watches him for a moment before he grunts to get the med kit from under the bed.

“He’s fine, Simmons,” Grif finally says. “Gray’s taking care of him. Me on the other hand,” he shakes the medkit, “I’m suffering.”

Simmons stares sadly for a moment before his face morphs into realization and he almost trips over the chair he stands up so quickly. “Crap. I forgot.”

“It’s fine,” Grif says. He sets the medkit down, opens it, then works on taking his undersuit off, gasping in pain trying to get the damn thing off his shoulders. “You’re taking care of it now.”

Simmons walks over and helps him take it off. He hisses when he’s able to take it off. “Crap. Why didn’t you say anything.” 

Grif tries to look over his shoulder to see why it’s a big deal when Simmons whacks his head, “OW?! And for your information I did. Multiple times.” Grif then feels the trickle of blood down his back and Simmons quickly using some gauze to wipe it off before applying pressure while he digs into the kit.

“Well you definitely opened it up,” Simmons says softly. “Probably because you lugged that damn gun instead of leaving it here.”

Grif grunts. 

Simmons is surprisingly gentle while he cleans and dresses the wound. He let’s Grif drink some of their booze stash when Simmons has to repair the stitches. When Grif hisses, Simmons shushes him...like he did the puppy earlier.

“So,” Grif asks when their finished. Simmons is digging sleep clothes out of the dresser. “You gonna explain why you risked getting your head blown off saving a dog?”

Simmons shoulders go up to his ears and he freezes for a moment before he goes back to searching through Grif’s messy drawer. He turns around with their clothes draped over one arm while the other rubs his neck. “I...um,” he licks his lips and refuses to look at Grif. “He was alone and scared. I didn’t want to leave him like that.”

Grif stares at him, “Ok? And you could tell that from the way he was crying? Do you speak dog or something? Would definitely explain somethings.”

“I wasn’t just going to leave him in the rubble, Grif!” Simmons now glares at him.

“You stopped everything before the building fell, dumbass.”

Simmons looks away again, rubbing more furiously at his neck. What is his deal? Why is he clamming up about this and being all skittish?

Grif sighs, “Whatever, dude. Give me my pants.” He makes a grabby motion, and Simmons chucks clothes at Grif’s face.

“Fuck you.” There’s no venom to it. It’s just awkward. Grif watches Simmons puts on his clothes and whistles. Simmons flips him off as he tugs his shirt over his head. Grif puts his pants on and Simmons helps him with his shirt.

They get settled into bed after much bitching from Simmons about Grif being careful not to open his shoulder up. Grif is on his back and Simmons is using his arm as a pillow.

“So what are you going to name him?” Grif asks.

“What?” Simmons says, sleepily.

“The dog. What are you going to call him.”

“I don’t know,” Simmons says, now irritated. “Spock? Data? Luke?”

“You are not naming your dog after your favorite sci-fi characters.”

“He’s not my dog,” Simmons yawns, and pauses long enough that Grif thinks he’s asleep. “What about Motherboard? Mobo for short.”

“No that’s stupid. Besides isn’t it a boy dog?”

Simmons huffs. There’s silence for a few minutes then Simmons loudly yawns, “Maybe Mobius?

“That’s slightly better. Still nerdy and stupid. Who names their dog after a math thing? I mean Mobi--” Grif stops then starts cracking up laughing.

“What?” Simmons sits up to glare at Grif who’s having a hard time breathing. “What?!”

“That’s perfect,” Grif chuckles, tears coming down his face.

“Why?”

“He’s a white dog. White whale. Your name’s Dick. His has to be Moby.”

Simmons just stares at Grif and slowly blinks. “What?”

“Moby and Dick!” Grif starts laughing again. “Moby Dick!”

Simmons points a threatening finger at Grif. “I’m not naming him that!”

“You have to! It’s your dog! You can name it ‘Motherboard’ or ‘Mobius’ or something equally nerdy, but he’s gonna be called Moby.”

“I’m not calling my--HE’S NOT MY DOG!”

“Sure, Simmons. Sure.”

“....shut the fuck up and go to sleep, Grif.” Simmons rolls away pouting. 

Grif smiles while rolling over and draping an arm across Simmons, “Mmhm.”

“Better not bleed on the bed,” Simmons says sleepily.

\---

The cafeteria is full when Grif walks in. Shit. They have bacon, eggs, and hashbrowns today. He hopes Simmons got him the good stuff if they ran out. Grif still gets in line and loads his plate up (thankfully nothing was out) before joining the Reds and Blues.

He walks up to Simmons and Tucker arguing; Caboose has his face stuffed, head bouncing back and forth between the two. Donut is talking skincare with Sarge. Washington and Carolina are off to the side trying their best to ignore the arguing.

“Vegetarian food is just as nutritious!” Simmons says.

“Nothing vegetarian is as good as bacon, Simmons,” Tucker says. “Bacon trumps all!”

“Gotta agree with the Blue on that one,” Grif says as he sits down next to Simmons.

“Yeah!” Tucker says with a grin. “Listen to your boyfriend Simmons.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Simmons frowns at his ‘not’ boyfriend. “A good apple tastes better than bacon.”

“Maybe! If it's been used to make some good, juicy Applewood smoked bacon!” Tucker waves a piece in front of Simmons, and Simmons looks like he's gonna be sick. “What's your deal dude?”

“It’s gross,” Simmons says lamely, poking at the hashbrowns on his plate.

Grif shakes his head, and continues eating, occasionally stealing some of Simmons ketchup soaked hashbrowns.

“You eat eggs,” Tucker continues, “and fish.”

“That’s different--”

“AND I’ve seen you eat hamburgers and hotdogs--”

“I cheat on occasion--” Simmons looks extremely uncomfortable and is trying to be louder than Tucker.

“You’ve never acted like a stuck up vegan before--”

“I just commented that it was gross!”

“Yeah, normally you shut up and don’t say anything--”

“You asked me why I didn’t get any!”

“Yeah! Because bacon is delicious.”

Simmons grimaces.

Grif openly steals some of Tuckers bacon.

“Hey you fuck!” Tucker shouts. “That’s mine!”

“Then shut up and eat.” Grif takes a big bite out of the piece of bacon and loudly chews it while staring at Tucker. Stolen bacon tastes leagues better anyway. Simmons looks like he’s going to be sick, but he looks relieved that the attention isn’t on him.

Simmons pushes his plate towards Grif, “I’m...I’m going to go. I gotta work on--”

“Captain Simmons?” Everyone at the table turns, looking at a nurse awkwardly standing behind them. She shifts under their gaze. “Doctor Grey says the...  _ patient  _ is ready for pickup. She doesn’t have anywhere to keep him and she trusts your knowledge to provide surgery after care.”

Simmons perks up. “Oh. Um. Now? I, uh, I don’t have anything ready for him.”

Sarge, Donut, and Carolina look confused. Right. They weren’t with them on the mission yesterday.

The nurse waves his hand, “It’s fine. Gray has some things she requisitioned for him, and since you’ve been in charge of inventory, she said you could gather more of what you need. She’s already talked to General, er,  _ President  _ Kimball to give you a few days leave to help with adjustment or you can take him with you when you work.”

Grif blinks. Wow. If he knew they were getting time off to care for the thing, he would have complained a lot less.

“You can make requests to the cook for meals since dog food isn’t something easy to come by.”

Grif’s eyebrows raise when he looks at Simmons. Simmons stares disbelieving at the nurse who goes back to awkwardly shifting.

“Are you… going to follow me?” she says.

“Oh,” Simmons stands up abruptly and bumps his knee on the table. “Crap! Uh, sorry, yes.”

Grif upends Simmons food onto his plate and follows them, eating while they go to Grey’s. The thought of food being wasted when they were still being rationed was unthinkable. While Simmons will be the main caretaker, he knows he’ll be expected to help and reassure Simmons that he’s doing fine and the dog won’t die or whatever. 

Simmons is hunched and wringing his hands the whole way to the hospital. He hesitates outside the doors before Grif just shoves him.

“Come on, dude,” Grif says. “It’s fine.”

“Is it though?” Simmons says staring at the hospital doors, still not moving forward. “What if I fuck up? What if I make it worse? Plus I’m being given leave and--”

“Simmons.” Grif says sternly and walks where he breaks Simmons view of the hospital doors. “It’s fine. If you can’t take care of him, I’m sure Caboose or one of the lieutenants can take him. Kimball, the president of Chorus, says it’s ok for you to slack off for a bit to make sure he’s ok. Plus you could train Moby to be a rescue or bomb dog or something.”

That earns Grif a glare from Simmons, “I’m not calling him--”

“Oh, Moby’s a cute name for him!” the nurse from earlier walks back through the doors and looks at them. “And you have to come in with me to get Moby. I can’t walk him out of the hospital.”

Simmons sighs and whispers to Grif, “I hate you.” Then he follows closely behind the nurse. Grif grins. He stops at the doors himself and remembers that he can’t openly bring stuff in. Grif wraps a few strips of bacon and a little bit of eggs in a napkin and pockets it before tossing his plate in the trash.

When they get to Gray’s office, they see a small pet carrier with a basket of medications, rope toys, balls, and sad looking stuffed animals. Grif hears the soft  _ scronch scronch _ noise of Moby chewing a ball.

“There you are!” Gray says. “He’s still a little drowsy from the medicine, but he’s doing very well! Thankfully the bone was mostly set properly and only had to do a little bit of wound cleaning.” She picks up the basket and hands it to Grif and takes out a paper that was folded in it and handing that to Simmons. “Normally I would suggest he stay for a few days for observation, but I have sick humans to take care of. I read your files when we finally had access to UNSC military database. You had some experiencing training and caring for dogs, so I know he’s in good hands.” 

Grif’s eyebrows raise and he looks at Simmons, who is pretending to focus on reading the note. Grif knows that Simmons has wanted a dog since forever. He had no clue that he had  _ experience _ with them since Simmons always complained that his parents never let him have pets, and if it’s in his military record...why had Simmons never told him this?

“He just needs to take the antibiotic, pain reliever, anti-inflammatory, and given the weakened sedative if he’s too active. Otherwise keeping him in his crate should help. He can start running around in a 4 weeks.”

“Four weeks?!” Simmons squawks. “I’ve only been given a few days off!”

“You and Grif will be regulated to desk duties in the meantime!”

“I…” Simmons hesitates and looks at the crate. “Should we be wasting time and resources on us, I mean, him?”

Gray looks at Simmons in an almost calculating way. “Think of it as a moral booster.”

“A-a moral booster?”

“Exactly. Having a pet shows that Chorus is on it’s way to going back to normal and away from the constant war we’ve been dealing with for years.” She goes and picks up the crate. There’s the sound of  scrambling in the crate as she hands it to Simmons. “And you are the perfect candidate to raise him to be a well trained doggy citizen.”

Simmons looks nervously at the crate now in his arms. “But--!”

“Now I have human patients to work on,” she gestures for them to leave. “Come back if there are any issues!”

When Grif and Simmons walk through her office door, it is immediately slammed behind them.

“Alright,” Grif says, trying to distract Simmons from his incoming panic. “Let’s get back to the room and figure out where to put all this shit.”

Simmons nods following. He’s pretty quiet and walks slowly and evenly, trying his best not to move the puppy too much. When they get outside, there’s loud whining coming from the carrier. Simmons makes some shushing noises, but the whining gets louder. Grif stops and looks at Simmons.

Simmons looks around then sets the carrier down in some grass, then squats down to cautiously open the carrier, “Hey little guy. Come on.” 

He hears scratching and sees the small thing lugging a bright red cast on his front leg. He has a ball in his mouth as he walks wobbly over to Simmons, sits leaning against his leg, drops the ball, and starts licking his hand, still whining.

Simmons blinks and slowly pets him and an equally slow smile grows on Simmons face. The little guy quiets down and Grif hears a slow  _ thump thump  _ of his tail. Simmons gets a bit more comfortable by sitting fully on the ground and sits with his legs crossed. The puppy tries to climb in his lap and starts to whine, but Simmons scoops him to help him out. The puppy huffs as it tries to get comfortable. Once settled he looks at the ball he dropped and does a soft little puppy yip then looks up at Simmons. Then the ball. Then Simmons. Then the ball. Simmons. Yip. Ball. 

Simmons reaches out and grabs the ball with a soft smile on his face. The puppy takes it and quietly starts chewing. The  _ scronch scronch _ noise from earlier starting back up. 

Grif sets the basket on top of the crate and sits next to Simmons. He reaches out to scratch Moby behind an ear. The dog looks up at Grif, happy and content.

“I’m surprised he trusts us,” Grif says. “I thought it would take forever for him to be comfortable with us.”

Simmons looks pained for a second before he just hums in agreement as he pets the other side of the puppy's head. “Yeah. Dogs are...pretty loyal.” Simmons almost curls around Moby for a moment. They both silently give him attention for a few moments.

“So…” Grif looks at Simmons. “You gonna explain your weirdness?”

Simmons winces and looks away. “Grif, I--” Moby loudly barks and drops the ball. Simmons stares at him for a moment then clears his throat, hands doing that dumb wringing thing he does when he’s nervous. “I was at a different--” Moby barks again then twists around as quickly as he can and starts trying to lick Simmons face. Simmons squawks while laughing. “What the-- what the fuck?” 

Grif chuckles, but an idea forms in his head. Gray mentioned training Moby to be an assistance dog, and Simmons could use an extra hand and help with his anxiety-- 

“GASP, OH MY GOSH, A PUPPY!”

_ click _

Grif turns to see Caboose running over followed by Donut who has an old school camera taking a picture. Simmons is too distracted trying to get the wriggling puppy away from his face to notice the camera.

“Oh no,” Donut says, “what happened?”

Moby has finally settled down and is looking at Caboose who has a huge grin on his face and is practically vibrating with energy. Caboose looks at Simmons then at Moby. Simmons. Moby. Simmons.

“It’s ok to pet him, Caboose.” Simmons says. 

Caboose face lights up even more as he sits down and scoots closer to pet Moby who lolls out his tongue, panting happily. 

“His leg was broken during the building collapse,” Grif explains. Donut nods then sits down to take another picture.

“Poor little guy. Well, he’s got lovely dads to take care of him!” Grif glares at Donut but doesn’t correct him. “What’s his name?” Donut asks.

“Spot!” says Caboose.

“Mobius!” says Simmons.

“Moby,” says Grif.

“Aw! Moby is such a cute name! Perfect since his dad’s name is Dick!” Donut hums and Simmons loudly sighs. “Spotted Dick is also a great name pun! And it fits since Simmons has freckles--”

“OK DONUT! THANK YOU FOR YOUR INPUT!” Simmons is bright red. Grif has to bite his lip to keep from laughing.

“Can I sign his cast?” Caboose asks. “He needs to be sealed.”

“What?” Simmons asks.

“He barks like a seal, and to keep things in you have to seal it. He needs to put his puppy energy away and if he keeps barking like a seal he can’t do that.”

Simmons squints his eyes, “What?!”

Grif sighs, “Sure Caboose. You can sign it to seal his puppy energy or whatever.”

Donut hands Caboose a pen out of his camera bag. Caboose excitedly writes his name on the puppies cast and adds a “feel beter” with a heart as well. The puppy surprisingly doesn’t wiggle too much while Caboose does this. When Caboose let’s his leg go, the puppy tries to wander away to go pee on a bush then waddles back and lays down with a huff and his legs splayed out next to Simmons. Simmons smiles and idly pets the top of Moby’s head. Moby huffs again and closes his eyes.

Donut takes another picture.

“Well I think the little guy needs some rest,” Donut says. “Why don’t we leave them alone Caboose.” Caboose turns around and pouts. “We can visit later when they get home. We can go get Moby a house warming gift!”

“Like a blanket!” Caboose perks up.

“Yes! Like a blanket!” Donut says. He stands up and Caboose quickly follows. “We’ll meet up with you boys later.” When they walk away, Grif watches Donut look over his shoulder at Simmons then signs something to Caboose. Grif  _ thinks  _ he caught something about a party which makes Grif frown especially because Caboose picks Donut up and starts running to town in excitement. 

He hears Simmons chuckling, pointing at Moby, “He’s snoring.”

Grif watches and then hears the slight snores coming from the small puppy. He smiles. 

“We should probably head back to the room. Let him rest.” And let Grif take a nap, but he hopes that’s automatically implied.

Simmons nods and carefully scoops Moby into his arms. Moby grumbles a little at being moved but he stays asleep, tucking his face between Simmons elbow and chest. Simmons has the softest look right now and it’s doing things to Grif’s heart. He grabs the basket of puppy supplies and shoves it in the crate and carries the crate so Simmons can hold his new dog that’s  _ totally _ not his dog. 

They make it back to their room. Simmons sets Moby on the unused bed while he digs through the supplies for the dishes, toys, and extra blankets. He folds those up to make a bed on the floor, and pulls out a stuffed animal to put next to Moby while he sleeps throws a ball and rope on the floor next to the blanket pile. He gets up to fill Moby’s water dish.

“Damn,” Simmons whispers. “I forgot to grab something for him to eat.”

Grif pulls out his leftover breakfast from his pocket. “Eh, saved him some breakfast scraps.”

Simmons glares, “We’re  _ not _ letting him eat table scraps.”

“We’re not at a table and it’s just some eggs and bacon.” Grif rolls his eyes and leans down to grab the empty food bowl, dumping the napkin of food into the dish. “He’ll be fine. He’s going to be eating modified table scraps anyway since Chorus doesn’t have a place that makes dog food.” Grif loudly yawns then closes his eyes and stretches out on the bed him and Simmons share.

Simmon huffs and sits next to Grif’s hip, both silent listening to the little snores coming from the other bed.

“What if I fuck this up,” Simmons says quietly. “Like I do everything else. Like I did--” he cuts himself off.

Grif opens one eye and looks at Simmons profile. He looks...pained. “I’m sure you’ll do fine. Grey mentioned you have experience taking care of dogs. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

Simmons winces and turns away more.

Grif loudly sighs, “Look dude. I’m sure it’s fine. I’m here to help and I’m sure the others will help out too, especially Caboose and possibly Donut.”

“...Yeah, I guess.”

“Look it’s not like… a baby or anything. Dogs are tough little assholes.” Simmons smiles for a brief second before going back to his grim, broody, starting off into space thing. Grif rolls his eyes and tugs Simmons down so he’s laying next to Grif. “Ugh. Stop pulling a Wash and take a nap.”

Simmons flails when Grif pulls him down then turns so he can glare at Grif, “I am  _ not _ pulling a Wash.”

“Of course you’re not staring off with a dark look on your face while refusing to explain why.”

Simmons shuts up and looks away. “I just...don’t want to talk about it right now.”

“Fine by me.”

Grif rubs his fingers into Simmons scalp in a slow motion trying to coax him to sleep.

Grif himself dozes off for a little bit before he jolts awake to a sad whiny bark followed by more sad whine sounds. Simmons sits up at the bark, and Grif realizes Simmons has been sweating. Simmons reaches down to grab Moby and hug him to his chest, rocking and shushing him. Moby immediately quiets when Simmons picks him up.

“It’s alright, boy,” Simmons says, voice kind of stuffy. “Y’alright.”

Grif looks over at Simmons. Simmons has been crying. 

“What happened?”

“Nothing,” Simmons says too quickly. Moby starts licking his face which makes Simmons chuckle. “Alright alright. Down, boy.” Simmons sets him down between himself and Grif.

Grif stares at Simmons. He can tell Simmons had a nightmare and is just being...cagey about it for some reason. “What happened to no dog in the bed because it promotes bad things?”

Simmons scratches Moby’s ear. “...It’s his first night here. He’s probably scared.”

“Fine.” Grif leans up on his elbow and starts petting Moby as well. “But if he pees in the bed, you’re cleaning it up.”

“Yeah,” Simmons says. He adjusts himself and Moby so Simmons is spooned with his back against Grif, and Moby’s curled up with his head is tucked under Simmons’s chin.

Simmons supports Moby’s back with his hand, adding some gentle scritches. It’s not long before the tension in Simmons lessens as he falls back asleep. Moby blinks sleepily at Grif before he huffs and snuggles in closer to Simmons. Grif reaches a hand over to pet him. 

“Thanks for the help, bud,” Grif says.

Moby huffs again and closes his eyes, then quiet little grunty snores accompany Simmons hiss click snores.

Grif kisses Simmons head and lays back down to enjoy his nap.

**Author's Note:**

> And that's the introduction to Moby and Dick! Hope you liked it!
> 
> Eventually I'll write a bunch of spin off stories for it and eventually answer why Simmons is so damn weird about Moby.
> 
> If you follow my art blogs at all, you've probably seen art of Moby. He's like in every AU I make.
> 
>  
> 
> [Here's some art from this chapter.](https://piratelynlyn.tumblr.com/day/2017/06/25/)


End file.
